


Confession

by Greykite



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, F/F, Lack of Communication, Not A Fix-It, Not Really AU, SO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greykite/pseuds/Greykite
Summary: It's always difficult to force someone to confess (just as to force yourself to).
Relationships: Nyreen Kandros/Aria T'Loak
Kudos: 5





	Confession

Aria doesn't ask anyone to kneel in front of her. She doesn't need such vulgar displays of obeisance that reek of provincial theater. When someone, usually feeling that they are seriously offended her, actually starts crawling in front of her and poking their face into her boots, Aria just disgustedly sign this creature on the list of slugs and throws it away with a kick of her boot: may it live — she can be a merciful ruler, if she in the right mood — but let it be only somewhere away from her eyes.

But now, when she sees Nyreen in this kneeling position, Aria's lips part in a slow, cruel, satisfied grin.

She waves Bray and the other bodyguards away. She had taught Nyreen biotic combat herself; even if the turian could get rid of the handcuffs and also the restraints on the back of her neck — only a bad teacher shares everything with their student without leaving a few nice little tricks to themselves.

Aria comes closer. Looks Nyreen in the face. Ice-blue eyes meet gold ones.

Even so, even with her hands shackled behind her back and the extra weight on her spurs holding her down, Nyreen still looks defiant. Such defiance should never have been demonstrated to the Queen of Omega.

The red mark on Nyreen’s face — the symbol of a gang that had been dispersed and brought to submission — is smeared, stripped.

Aria notices a wet glint on the side of Nyreen's head and doesn't hesitate to point her fingers at the spot where blood is still oozing from the wound on Nyreen’s silver-dark skin. Aria runs two fingers over Nyreen's face, just under her eyes, and the turian doesn't have even a moment to look away. A rich dark blue is not quite the same color as Aria's skin — but it will do for a badge of belonging.

Nyreen's mandibles flinch slightly; however, she should have known how this all would end.

Back then, when Nyreen took advantage of the commotion after Omega's reclaiming and disappeared, only to appear again as an irritating red spot on the periphery of Aria’s field of vision. Just when Aria thought the memory of _dead_ Nyreen would serve her well.

(How did Nyreen survive at all?)

Aria curiously slides the pad of her finger along Nyreen's brow arch — thanks to the structure of the turian’s skull, Nyreen can't frown and blur the line of Aria's touch.

(Aria ordered to turn over, from top to bottom, the entire area where the last encounter with the Adjutants had taken place, but Nyreen had already vanished into thin air.)

Aria takes another step closer, forcing Nyreen to tilt her head back — but her gaze, which she doesn't take away from Aria's eyes, remains just as calm, not reflecting even a trace of the discomfort. Aria likes it — and it's annoying her at the same time.

“I only wanted to see your Talons as the station's security service," she says.

“So they can later betray those who would trust them? If these people would not suit you just a little bit?”

Nyreen's voice has a strange, uncharacteristic huskiness in it. Did she hurt her throat when she resisted? This can be found out later.

Aria shakes her head.

“You turian idealists don't learn anything. Never.”

Although she had to admit: Nyreen handled the game a little better than Archangel did. He set to himself a goal that was obviously unrealistic.

Nyreen, in her turn, just...

Aria's hand rests on Nyreen’s head, idly caressing the bone plates of the crest.

...just misunderstood something.

“Why didn't you stay with me?"

Independence is only a game in which a superior of forces wins.

Justice is the illusion of the weak.

Equality...

(Something inside Aria bursts like an overripe fruit with a bitter core.)

Equality is the illusion too.

"Stay? You mean, like that?”

Nyreen suddenly leans forward with a supple movement and pulls down the zipper of Aria’s tight pants with her long, thin teeth.

Aria's smile freezes.

"Dare you? Still?”

She knows: she just said it out loud. Even in a whisper. Even without guards or other prying ears.

Nyreen's mandibles spread wider. Aria's thighs spread too. She turns herself so as to make herself more comfortable in front of her captive.

Her «partner». That's what Nyreen said in the past. Aria, back then, was twitching her mouth in response and was pulling Nyreen’s head a little closer - she couldn't bear hearing nonsense in bed.

Aria does the same now, but the gesture doesn't make sense: Nyreen doesn't distract from the caresses, calculated like an attack from a mercenary group.

The turian tongue seems to have been specially created for this purpose. For getting inside, for pushing the petals-folds, to draw in the protruding juice to the drop: again and again, as many times as necessary. To be one time painfully deep, then other time subtly teasing from the outside.

Nyreen is in no hurry, acting with complete understanding. Her eyes, when she pulls back a little, are still unperturbed — she was always fearless, always more concerned about those subordinate and inferior than about the integrity of her own skin, and was afraid of only one, only one...

(To disappear. To lose yourself.)

Aria hisses through her teeth when Nyreen's tongue touches a long-healed scar - the mark of an attempt made by one of her lovers: to inject her with a lethal dose of a biotic-suppressing drug. After that, Aria never slept in the same bed with anyone. Many hundreds of years.

Not with anyone — until Nyreen.

Even that, for the record, only happened once. The night before their parting.

(To lose yourself — even in her, Aria T'Loak. Or even — especially in her.)

Aria's fist clenches — until her strong, trained fingers beginning to ache. Blue sparks dance around her like a cloud.

"Say it," Aria demands. She orders her knees to moderate their trembling.

"Say. Admit it", Aria's breathing becomes more and more intermittent, sharp.

("I was wrong.")

"You didn't have to…"

(Three simple words.)

“To. Do. This.” Aria almost screams at the last word. She must be careful; otherwise the paranoid Bray will disobey the order and burst in.

(Will you break in two from it, stubborn bird?!)

The last thought is almost tender, and Aria hates herself for it.

But Nyreen is still silent. It seems suddenly that she is not even breathing — only her tongue continues to slide along the inner side of Aria's thighs and perineum, deliberately preventing her from falling off the top of pleasure for as long as possible.

With something between a growl and a groan, Aria calls for biotics in the palm of her hand.

"You still haven't proved anything!"

With the fact that you…

Oblique blow, with all the force — with all the confidence that such an obvious stupidity (such an obvious inability to understand, when it just banal “I-dare-you”-thing) does not deserve any proof. But before her head bobs to the side, Nyreen manages to swing her tongue once more.

…have died.

It's seems like a bomb explodes inside Aria. And Nyreen explodes with it right before her eyes — a bright blue, piercing flash of sparks in the closed cocoon of the biotic barrier.

***  
Aria wakes up in her apartment, on a luxurious bed that is too big for a single intelligent being. Her heart is still pounding from the arousal that has not subsided — but it inevitably flows away, replaced by a sour disappointment.

Aria unclenches her fingers on the sheets; a little more, and she'd have to order the new ones.

Aria continues to see the phantom negative of Nyreen's face on the other side of her eyelids, flickering in the dark, faintly illuminated by the glow of neon.

She can't force Nyreen to confess — even in the dream.

Humans have a saying about a butterfly that can change history with a flick of its wing.

She would like to have one such creature — to somehow cunningly bend the memory, rewrite the feverish chain of events; who would understand clear that exactly happened, here on Omega. And she would squeeze, shake, even fuck, if necessary, the right words from the white-boned mouth of that cursed turian.

(So that Aria could finally get rid of the dreadful, disgusting idea: that one who was wrong — and not just in that one aspect, but from the very beginning, in all their damn thrice-fucking "relationships", — was not Nyreen, but Aria herself.)


End file.
